


The Mundane and Slightly Ridiculous Adventures of Pocket Julian

by bmouse



Series: The Adventures of Pocket Julian [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Shameless Trope Fic, Shrinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:17:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmouse/pseuds/bmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blame tinsnip. She gave me a crack prompt for 'pocket!Julian' that is, what would happen if our dear doctor suddenly woke up five inches tall? Luckily this is Star Trek so these kinds of things are pretty plausible...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mundane and Slightly Ridiculous Adventures of Pocket Julian

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinsnip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/gifts).



> Um. So. Totally useless self-indulgence, POV switching and mild spoilers for season 6? season 5? One of those things. Don't think too hard about fitting this into a timeline.

Julian was having a little trouble getting down. In a fit of enterprise he’d climbed to the apex of the shoulder of Garak’s jacket in order to get closer to his ear and spare his own lungs from constant yelling. True, Garak could have certainly lifted him up if he asked but he suspected that after a confusing morning - Doctor Bashir having woken up shrunk to a twelfth of his usual size - and being however gently prodded at and talked over by the rest of the senior staff his friend might appreciate a sense of agency.

Now that their conversation was done he could understand the unwillingness to type out its' contents on the extra light mini-PADD that has been his method of communication for the day. A week before, the doctor had received a puzzling message from no specific subnet source. Several years ago it might have just slipped his mind or he would have written it off as a system error but bitter experience had made him scrutinize the contents and attempt to trace the origin with a level of skill unexpected of a plain, simple physician.

Unfortunately he was forced to conclude that that the most likely source was Section 31. Sloan may be presumed dead but after being rattled by it's near-exposure the organization must have regrouped and were now sending feelers out to see if anything could be salvaged of the man’s old projects, his recruitment efforts included.

Which is why, after he had been confined to quarters when a thorough investigation in the Infirmary had revealed that the condition was temporary, the first thing he did was have a minor fit of paranoia - it didn’t take an enhanced genius to realize that he was rather vulnerable like this and the second thing he did was call Garak to come get him. Quarantine in this case was more to keep the general population from finding out and Julian knew he’d feel safer if he wasn’t exactly where people expected him to be. 

Garak, of course had been surprised and pleased to be singled out for his company in such an uncomfortable time. Well, perhaps not exactly surprised. They had gotten closer after their escape from the prison camp, and spending time together outside their ever-more-frequent lunches had ceased to be a rare occasion - but he was not and would never be so complacent as to _expect_ Julian’s time, or company or trust. 

A certain deep-rooted feeling unfurled in his heart when he understood that his friend had also come to him for protection, however unconsciously. Yes, that was correct, a sound tactical decision - he was still capable of eliminating threats and with the advent of the war he had de-prioritized the smokescreen of the harmless shopkeeper a little in favor of getting back to better fighting trim. And yet it also felt right in another way, he was currently largely unable to protect his homeland but he would not fail this person, who had come to him to seek shelter in his space and was as dear to him as his last remaining family.

Those protective instincts were certainly at the fore now magnified in equal proportion to Julian’s sudden loss of stature and though he’d never dream of crossing such boundaries uninvited his hands itched to take his friend’s suddenly-more-fragile-than-usual body into his cupped palms. _And then what?_ he laughed at himself, _Never put him down? Swallow him whole like Lady Arset did with the Jewel of Pirhara?_ Anyway, losing both hands even to this pleasant task would be highly impractical - surely Julian could fold himself into just one palm. To defend him properly he would at least need the other hand free for a keypad. Or a phaser.

"Take your time, my dear." he whispered quietly, conscious of the relative decibel level of his voice and surreptitiously positioned his other hand under his elbow to catch the doctor-turned-mountaineer

In return he got a charmingly exaggerated shake of his head and he watched, smiling, the suddenly confident progress downward, hardly even minding the way his friend used the delicate embroidery as a source of hand-holds. 

 

\- - - - - - -

 

"Could I have a dish of warm water?" Julian typed out after a while. "And some soap, please?"

The warm air circulating throughout the shop was making him rather aware that he had already fallen asleep in yesterday's dirty uniform, then woken up in it in his current size, which while preserving his dignity admirably did very little for his hygiene. The briefing and the vertigo-like sensation of everything being huge had made his endocrine system work overtime and then running around pressing keys on the mini-PADD and clambering all over Garak had left him with a layer of sweat between his skin and the uniform that he was anxious to get rid of. No sense disrupting the proper self-care regimen over a little thing like waking up five inches tall, he would just have to improvise with an old-fashioned washtub.

_Good thing I'm not full-size or I'd be tweaking poor Garak's nose something fierce!_ he thought.

He'd already gotten him to admit in an unguarded moment that Julian's scent was unusual, though he had hastily disclaimed ‘not unpleasant’ and though he couldn't get any details on exactly how he was perceived by a Cardassian sense of smell, at least he could be sure in the knowledge that 'Julian smells a bit funny' was strictly in Garak’s head and as such among the most secure secrets in the universe. 

_Though I really hope it's nice, in some way - the way I smell._ A rather important part of his future plans depended on it.

Before long, and with the curiously endearing view of watching Garak actively _bustle_ he had a small shallow teacup full of not-too-recently boiled water and a bar-sized sliver of the little soap-cake Garak used to mark out patterns in the cloth when the laser overlay was on the fritz. While he was surveying his future bathtub, thinking how favorably it compared with the narrow deep one in his quarters his world went temporarily soft and white as Garak took his inattention as a chance to drop a square of fabric on his head. 

Oh, a towel. Right. He’d be needing that. He ran his hands over it. An absurd amount of tiny threads, barely visible even to his suddenly-smaller eyes made little quilted pockets that promised to feel heavenly on wet skin. _Is this that the new Andorian satin?_ he thought, turning it over. Time enough in Garak’s workshop was beginning to make him a fabric expert by osmosis. It _was_ the satin, and expensive, and hard to get.

_Well, I’m rather cheap to dress right now aren’t I._ But of course it was more than that.

Anyway, cleanliness. Everything seemed to be in order except, well. He looked up to see Garak watching him wrestle with the fabric square with transparent amusement. Now a question for the ages; did illegal enhancements help a man figure out how to mime ‘shower curtain’ or something similar? They were very close even by stringent Cardassian standards but he wasn’t exactly ready for public nudity to become part of the program. _Not when I’m like this anyway…_

He settled on the near-ubiquitous ‘turn around’ gesture, feeling like some long-legged coquette in a romance holonovel, in response to which the contrary bastard blinked innocently at him with giant blue eyes - every line of his body radiating honest puzzlement. After a beat (where Julian was slightly tempted to start taking things off anyway in a sort of propriety-chicken), the facade broke and Garak, chuckling, took his left hand out from behind his back and produced, with a theatrical flourish, - a large paper book which he opened and placed just in front of the teacup-tub and it’s future occupant. This also put it between it and his work bench. Momentarily Julian felt the minor tectonic shift of him sitting down. 

“Thanks, awfully!” he yelled and began unzipping. 

Ugh, and not a moment too soon, he could certainly smell himself. Still, once his less-than-pristine briefs were folded on top of the rest of his clothes he had to take a moment and acknowledge the absurdity of it all. _I’m standing naked in Garak’s shop. And he’s right over there probably hemming something like this is completely normal._ And it was comfortable, and oddly companionable but at the same time his ears picked out the subtle in and out sound of Garak’s breath and just the awareness that he was there, that sense of presence made the hair on the back of his thighs stand up and the muscles of his belly tighten. 

Overanalyzing things did have the benefit that by the time he gracefully vaulted over the rim of the cup the water was fantastic. He may have even splashed around for a while before getting down to the business of scrubbing. When he was finished, he let out a loud 'Aaaah' of satisfaction, cracked his toes where they hung over the edge and even managed to translate his way down most of the first page of his privacy screen as he soaked before he felt himself getting prune-y and reluctantly crawled out. 

Perhaps he’d soaked a little too long. The heat must have gone to his head because right after walking out from behind the book he realized there was enough of the generously cut 'towel' to wrap around himself like a blanket, instead of low around his hips the way he had, the way he usually did on the rare days he had a real water shower. Sometimes after those he would forget the towel altogether, turn the temperature back to original Cardassian conditions and just let himself air-dry as he caught up on paperwork. A little harmless hedonism had always been his favorite cure for stress and god knows there’d been enough of that recently.

Damn, not quite the right thing to think about since he was suddenly acutely conscious that this was the most undressed he'd ever been in Garak's company and, to his unending annoyance felt himself starting to blush. 

_Get a hold of yourself, you're about as sexy as one of Molly's dolls right now._

Garak looked up from what looked like some delicate finicky stitching and turned to face him.

“Well, you certainly look refreshed!”

And oh, that didn’t help, the way his rich voice echoed in the empty shop, the way it wrapped around him like a low mellow wave.

“What excellent timing,” Garak continued “ I’ve just finished.” 

The finicky bit turned out to be a small bathrobe, in perfect Starfleet medical blue, with a short length of soft wool to be used as a belt. _Oh._ Julian felt his face do the usual awkward thing it did in the presence of unexpected kindness. He was so useless he hadn’t even thought of what he’d wear after the bath.

His voice was still hoarse from earlier and he hated how high and tinny it sounded so instead he bowed deeply, closed fists on top of each other like a schoolboy and got a slight head-tilt in return along with one of those slow fond blinks. 

Before long the hum of the hand stitcher started up again. Julian surreptitiously checked if Garak was looking his way, then closed his eyes and hugged himself to better feel the texture of the robe’s fabric. This one he couldn’t name by sight - something like fine terrycloth. God, he was spoiled. Softly he let all the air flow out of his lungs, then back in.

He felt so safe here.

Safe enough to process and admit that he’d been tense and off-balance all day. The change in scale had made familiar corridors into eerie cathedrals. His well-meaning friends in the briefing had seemed strange and even slightly grotesque (Miles should really wash the skin under his chin more often and he wouldn’t be forgetting Kira’s red nostril hairs anytime soon) but Garak from afar seemed almost natural. Even magnified, his scales had revealed nothing but a slight dullness of the surface that he assumed was a side effect of so long in the cold without natural sunshine and consistent oiling. Give him the traditional flowing robes and long braided hair of the period and he could be some lovey Hebetian colossus presiding over ancient cities. 

Julian frowned. However poetic the image was it had the literary interpretation of loneliness. He was here, but to the casual observer it would still look like Garak was spending another evening alone with his commissions. For some reason that rankled.

Acutely, he wanted this odd little malady done with. Wanted to be his proper size - taking up space and giving off tangible warmth. If he was back to normal he could read to Garak or fetch him tea, reciprocate somehow. He could walk over and stand beside him, maybe put a hand on his shoulder or press their palms together in solidarity. Oh hang it, he wanted to embrace him, to push his nose into his hair and see if his long arms would make a good fit around Garak’s broad back. To whisper "Thank you for taking care of me" into his ear.

His next breath out became a sigh.

Well, failing sudden convenient shrink-reversal and romantic courage he could at least be good company. For the rest of the evening he fetched and carried fabric scraps, laid them against each other for color tests, listened to a series of artfully arranged complaints against the perpetrator of the puce and orange formal shorts commission (a waiter at the Klingon restaurant who thought they would look _festive_ ) and even threaded an old-fashioned needle. He was happy, and just as soon as he stopped yawning he resolved that he would make plans to somehow give his friend the same amount of happiness, plus interest, possibly in the form of a hug.

 

\- - - -

 

He would be getting his wish - Doctor Bashir had fallen asleep in his samples drawer. 

Fishing him out took some care, namely gently inserting his fingers under the scrap of cotton he was currently minutely drooling on, but he made a terribly pretty picture - curled up in Garak’s palm and snoring at a decibel level his ears couldn’t perceive. Even now he was slightly exothermic, it was like holding a small mild flame.

The hour was late. Easily avoiding the stream of staggerers from Quark’s, shielding his cupped left hand from security cameras, he walked into his sterile officially assigned quarters, set his personal security protocols to maximum, and then walked back out of them by the back door that led to a forgotten maintenance corridor. He made his way down darkened access stairs and infrequently visited Jeffries tubes and ended up, circuitously, in the large storage room behind the shop where he kept his little hanging garden, his very few real belongings of consequence and the re-appropriated double bed where he actually slept most often.

At last, after emptying an ornate tea-box next to his bedside (its’ little golden inlays and smooth white wood rendering it a suitable resting place for his precious burden) he reflected, as he crawled under his pile of blankets, with no bitterness and no small amount of warm amusement that this wasn’t quite the way he envisioned his dear doctor first spending the night.


End file.
